


New Way to Fly

by hayj



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6130501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayj/pseuds/hayj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charlie returns home to Willoughby after an extended absence, she ends up in the arms of the one man she'd sworn not to. Bass Monroe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arriving in the midst of a pre-dawn storm wasn’t something Charlie Matheson had planned for the second day of her new job.

Still, it wasn’t the prospect of getting fried by lightning or the probable storm caused chaos awaiting her as Willoughby, Texas’ new airport director that had her nerves crawling. It was the thought of facing Bass Monroe.

He’d always had that effect on her, from the instant her Uncle had introduced them, to the moment Bass had ended their relationship. Even now, three years later, just thinking about their chemistry seemed to thicken the air. 

Granted, fate seemed to have spun her life full circle by putting her back in Texas and in Bass’ path.  But, things had changed in the past three years. The terrible guilt she felt had eased.  Even the desperate pain that had come when Bass turned away from her, no longer rose up to grip her by the throat.  She’d healed. Gotten on with her life.  And had adamantly refused to think about Bass Monroe.  

Until yesterday.

 

That was when her secretary handed her the roster for today’s staff meeting. To her dismay, Charlie had discovered the Bass was now Chief over Willoughby International Airport’s Police Department Division.  He didn’t work for her, but, since security was a priority at any airport, her former lover was destined to be a part of her new job. 

He hadn’t been on–site yesterday, so at least she hadn’t had to deal with seeing him her first day on the job.  Still, knowing Bass would again be a presence in her life had put a knot in her belly that had nothing to do with new-job jitters.  

Peering through the watery windshield, Charlie reminded herself that what had happened between her and Bass no longer mattered. Now, mattered.  

 

Snagging the director’s job at the Willoughby International Airport had been a great career move, one she planned to use for further advancement in the aviation industry.  The fact that her new job involved Bass was the one dark cloud on her horizon.

Her first dealings with him would be across a conference table, with her staff seated around them.  She was in charge of the airport, she could make sure she and Bass didn’t wind up alone together, at least not until she had a chance to steel herself against his presence.

Squinting out the windshield, Charlie steered around a corner; headlights shining across the chain-link fence that marked the airport’s north perimeter, just as  lightning bolted, illuminating the landscape like a flash.  Charlie squeaked as sparks flew and a thin sapling toppled onto the fence. 

“Holy…” She grabbed the microphone off its clip on the dash.  “Airport three this is Airport one.”

“You’re on early, boss.”

Despite the tension that had her spine stiff, her lips curved.  “What do the weather gurus say about this storm, Jeremy?”

“We’ve just gone under a tornado watch, which is a regular occurrence around here in April.”

Charlie gave thought to the airline delays that always accompanied storms. That meant a terminal filled with prickly travelers, piles of luggage and overwhelmed concessions.  “What’s going on with the airlines?”

“Everything’s on schedule so far.”

“If the tornado watch gets upgraded to a warning, how long will it take to get everyone to the baggage area?”

“Ten minutes give or take.”

“Okay. Stay with the weather data and let me know what’s happening.”  When the Bronco topped a small rise, the lights of the gleaming glass and chrome terminal came into view.  “Oh, and by the way, a sapling just went down on the north fence.”

“I thought you were on your radio at home,” Jeremy commented, “It’s barely six-thirty. You’re not due in until eight.” 

“I decided to come in because of the weather.” She didn’t add that the prospect of seeing Bass had kept her up all night.

“You and Monroe,” Jeremy said.  “He had the police dispatcher call to let me know he’d be in early, too.”

“I’m going straight to my office.  Call me there,” She replied as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on her.

“Ten-four. You know Charlie, I’m glad to have you back working here, as director this time.” 

“Thanks, Jeremy.” 

Signing off, she snapped the microphone back in its clip and let out a slow breath.  

Minutes later, she steered onto the drive that led to the employee lot. Braking at the gate, she rolled down her window and slid her id card into the slot on the reader.  The process took mere seconds, but when she pulled her arm back inside, the cuff of her blazer was soaked.

“Just great,” She sighed.

 

Pulling into her parking space she readied her umbrella before shouldering the door open against the wind, plunging into the storm. 

The wind tossed rain under the umbrella, snapping its ribs up straight.  By the time she raced through the door, she was soaked to the skin.

“Wonderful,” She muttered, cramming her ruined umbrella into a trashcan.  Slicking her hair away from her face, she looked around. Even at this early hour the terminal was bustling.

The cool air prickled her damp flesh and she gave silent thanks for the change of clothes she’d brought in yesterday with her boxes of personal items. The jeans, shirt and tennis shoes were more appropriate for trips out to the airfield, but they were at least dry.

Just as she reached the staircase that lead to the second floor offices, the siren outside the terminal blared. Seconds later a woman’s calm recorded voice sounded on the PA system.

“Attention in the terminal. Due to a weather emergency, please proceed to the baggage claim area.”

Clipping her ID card to her wet lapel, she threaded through the crowd, silently blessing Jeremy for cueing the PA announcement.

“Please proceed to the escalators,” she repeated as she moved, pitching her voice over the din of the still screaming sirens.  As voices rose with urgency, Charlie caught a glimpse of WPD’s gray uniform.  Her heartbeat hitched, then leveled when she realized it wasn’t Bass approaching.  An officer she’d met the previous day wore the uniform.

“Officer Neville will escort you downstairs,” she stated to the people nearby.  

Noting he had things under control, Charlie veered toward the concourse.

Outside, thunder crashed, and rain hit the floor-to-ceiling windows.  Lightening streaked across the horizon, silhouetting a 727 parked at one gate.  At the entrance to the concourse, the security checkpoint workers had secured the sliding gate to bar access before leaving their post.

“My daughter, my daughter!”

Spinning around, Charlie shoved her damp hair back off her face again as she stared at a woman flapping her free hand at the gate. A small boy stood next to her, gripping her skirt.  

“Your daughter?”  Charlie asked.  

“Yes. She’s lost! Maybe down there,” the woman waved her hand toward the concourse.

“I’ll find her,” Charlie said, digging in her tote for her master-key. Just then, the maintenance worker she’d spotted earlier dashed around the corner, keys dangling from his belt.

“I’ve got an emergency,” Charlie informed him. “Unlock this-“

“Listen, lady, everybody’s supposed to be downstairs. My boss told me to make one last sweep.”

“I am your boss, “ Charlie said, flashing her ID. “A little girl’s lost, possibly in the concourse.  Open the gate and then take this woman and her children downstairs.”

She saw the flicker of recognition in the man’s eyes when he read her name. “Yes ma’am.”

He jerked a key ring off his belt, and had the gate unlocked and shoved open in seconds.  When he turned back, his gaze shifted across Charlie’s shoulder, “We’ve got a problem, Chief."

“What’s going on?”

The familiar voice that came from behind her had Charlie’s hand trembling on the strap of her tote.  She let out the breath that had caught in her throat, then turned and met Bass Monroe’s impossibly blue eyes.

“A little girl’s lost, maybe in the concourse,” she said, thankful that her voice was at least steady. “I’ll look for her while you-“

“I’ll go.” For the space of a heartbeat, Bass’s eyes lingered on her face. 

He turned to the woman who now had tears streaming down her cheeks.  “Ma’am, What’s your daughter's name?” 

“Maria Hernandez.” 

With ease of habit, Bass spoke into a handheld radio as he stepped around the gate and headed into the concourse.

The instant Charlie caught up with him, his shoulders went rigid beneath his dark suit coat. “Dispatch says we could have a tornado on the ground any minute,” he said giving her a grim look.  “This concourse is nothing but glass walls. Get downstairs, Charlie. Now”

Although she bristled at his curt order, she knew his concern was warranted.  The same glass and chrome that made most airports impressively spacious turned them deadly in the face of storms and bombs.

“It’s a big concourse,” she said matching his steps, “Two can search in half the time.” 

“Can’t argue that. You take the East side. Try to stay clear of the windows,” he added across his shoulder as he headed in the opposite direction.

Charlie veered towards a departure gate, it’s padded seats and passenger service counter deserted.  Pulling the strap of her tote up on her shoulder, she bent and peered below the seats.

“Maria?”  Charlie spotted a few paper cups and a carelessly tossed aside newspaper, but no little girl.  After checking behind the counter, she moved to the next departure gate.

She was aware of the storm raging outside, yet her thoughts as she continued her search centered on Bass.

He had changed, she thought as she checked the lock on a door leading to a jet way.  His thick curly hair no longer lapped carelessly over his shirt collar the way it had when he’d worked undercover.  He now wore his hair short and brushed back.  His handsome face had thinned accenting his cheekbones and those blue eyes that could make a woman shudder.

She had. More times than she could count.  She had also wept, mourned, and longed.  Then she’d gotten over him.

Her breath coming fast, Charlie shouted Maria’s name as she dashed through the next two departure gates.

Outside, thunder crashed, and the wind wailed like a lost soul.  

“Charlie!”

At the sound of Bass’s voice, she raced into the center of the concourse.  Her hope that he’d found Maria faded when he dashed around a newsstand holding only his radio.  “Maria’s been found.” 

“Thank good-“

“There’s a twister on the ground. We’re in it's path.”

As Bass spoke, the wind calmed and the rain stopped.  The air inside the terminal seemed to take on weight.  An ominous silence descended around them.  

“We won’t make it.” 

“You’re right.” Bass said clamping one hand on her elbow.

“There’s a family restroom just past the coffee shop.”

The sound of her heels echoed like gunshots as they raced down the concourse.

Bass jerked open the door to the restroom, Charlie darting inside just as a deafening roar blasted around them.

“Get in the corner!” Bass shouted, slamming the door behind him.

Diving for the corner, Charlie wedged her back against the wall. Bass hunkered down to face her, then wrapped his arms around her, his body a protective barrier over hers.

The storms roar intensified, sounding like a train speeding through a tunnel. When Bass’s arms tightened around her waist, Charlie closed her eyes with a whimper.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmured, his breath warm against her temple.  With him crouched over her, prepared to take the brunt of the storm, she felt protected and safe.

He had one knee wedged against the wall causing the inside of his thigh to ride atop hers.  The power, the press of muscle, the strength in the legs that had straddled her body in another lifetime sent a shiver up her spine that had nothing to do with the prospect of being hurled into oblivion by a tornado.

The ceiling tiles above them lifted, and then smashed back down. Outside the door, glass shattered. They felt something heavy slam into the wall behind her.

“Jesus.” She whispered, shaking in fear.  Against her ear, Bass’s heartbeat remained steady.  The lights flickered, dimmed, and then went out, plunging the small room into pitch darkness.  Then everything went silent.

Charlie dragged in a ragged breath,

For the space of a dozen heartbeats, neither of them moved.  The warm press of his body against hers reminded her of all those nights they lay together, sated and unmoving.

Her throat closed and she shoved the memory away while blinking back a rare swell of tears.

Damnit. She’d been determined to control their first meeting. Now, here she was, huddle on the floor with his arms around her.

Stiffening her spine, she placed a palm against his shoulder and pressed him back.

“It’s over, Bass.”

“Yeah.”

He shifted his weight. Seconds later, she heard a click. A weak ray of light from the thin flashlight he held in one hand illuminated the restroom.  Charlie felt the press of his hand on her shoulder.  

“You okay?”

“Yes. You.”

“Still in one piece.”

She stared into the face she knew so well, his eyes an almost transparent blue in the uncertain light.  In another lifetime, she had wanted this man more than she’d wanted to breath.

She kept her eyes level with his. That other lifetime had passed. “Do you always carry a flashlight?”

“I heard the weather forecast, so I grabbed it in my way out the door.”

“Good, it’ll make it easier for us to get out of here,” she said as they stood in unison.  “I need to find out what’s happening.”

“So do I.” The light bobbed against the tiles as Bass moved to the door. The lock gave a soft snick when he turned it, then he gripped the knob and pushed.  

Nothing happened.

Charlie blinked. “What’s wrong?”

“The door’s blocked.”  He put his shoulder against the door, then shoved. Still nothing. A second attempt failed to nudge the door even a fraction.

Bass turned to face her, his eyes unreadable. “The good news is we're alive. The bad news is we’re stuck here.”

“We can’t be stuck,” Charlie stated.

Bass leaned a shoulder against the restroom wall, studying her through the flashlights weak beam.

Her dark blonde hair was damp and pushed back away from her face, emphasizing blue eyes and full lips. His gaze slid down her throat to her shoulders, then lower. Her red suit molded against curves he memorized a lifetime ago.  With a silent curse, he pushed away the image.  He didn’t need a reminder of how good Charlie Matheson looked wet.

Or of how she felt.  Which was what he’d gotten a few moments ago.  Even with a tornado ripping overhead, the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest and one endlessly long thigh riding the underside of his had sent a familiar awareness through him.

“We can’t be stuck in here, Bass.”

“The door’s blocked. We’re not going anywhere until someone springs us.”

“Then we need to contact somebody about doing that.”

He held up his radio.  “Dead. The storm must have gotten the repeaters on the communications tower. Maybe the tower.”

“People might be hurt.  I need to talk to Jeremy so I know what needs to be dealt with.” Grabbing her bag, she pulled out a cell phone and put it against one ear.

Moments later, a crease formed between her brows.  “Circuits are busy.” Her mouth set, she slid the phone into her pocket.

“Dispatch will reroute through the emergency operations center.  Hopefully that won’t take long, but, even then, getting us out will be second to tending the injured.  We might be here awhile.”

She closed her eyes with a sigh.  “Wonderful.”

Had he not been watching her closely, Bass would have missed the quiet shiver that went through her.

“Your cold.”

“I’m okay.”

“Your hair’s wet. So are your clothes.” Leaving the radio and flashlight on the sink, he pulled off his suit coat. 

“You’ll have enough to deal with when we get out of here without getting sick.”

“I’m fine, Bass.”

Her voice drifted off when he settled the coat around her shoulders. Gazing down, he watched the way the dim light cast shadows over her face, highlighting her eyes, softening her skin.

He dropped his hands just as the radio sputtered to life.

“Victor Ten, go ahead.”

“Ten-Twenty? The dispatcher responded.

“Concourse, south end.”

“Ten-nineteen.”

“The airport director and I took refuge in the private handicapped restroom.  Debris has us blocked in.”

“Roger, Victor Ten, is anyone in your party hurt?”

“Negative. Do you have a status report on the injuries?”

“A parking attendant is down. EMT’s are on the scene.”

Bass met Charlie’s gaze. He had the sense that she was holding her breath. “What about on the airfield?”

“No injuries reported. An MD-80 Parked at Gate 4C sustained damage, resulting in a fuel spill. Fire crews are there.”

“What about the airfield? Can the tower give us their view of any damage?”

“The tower doesn’t respond to calls. It might have been hit. A unit is en route.”

“Dear Lord,” Charlie groaned and closed her eyes.

“Have you let headquarters know we need backup?”

“Ten-four. The twister cut a path through the city.  Headquarters says we’re on our own for a while.”

Bass issued instructions to the dispatcher then added, “The cell phones are out and the director needs to talk to Jeremy Baker. Have him radio her on this channel."

Charlie shook her head as Bass signed off,  “If the MD-80 has electrical damage, one spark could ignite the fuel. The crew working there….” Her hands curled into fists. “I feel so helpless.”

“So do I, Charlie.”

With silence settling around them, Bass watched her pace, moving from one side of the small room to the other. Three years ago, she didn’t deserved to be shackled to a guilt-ridden cop who could no longer put their relationship first, so he’d walked away.  It had taken time, but the guilt had subsided and he’d forgiven himself for the part he’d played in putting Connor in harm’s way.  Not until then had he realized that by letting Charlie go, he’d cut out his own heart.

“Airport One?” Jeremy Baker’s voice boomed through the radio. “This is Airport Three.”

Bass handed the unit to Charlie. “Airport Three, what’s the status of the damaged MD-80?” As she spoke, she knelt beside her bag and retrieved a notepad and pen.

“Debris punched a hole in the fuel tank, a hazardous materials crew is foaming the spilled fuel.”

“Any word on the control tower?”

“From what I can see, looks like the upper cab is gone. The phone lines are down, so we don’t know what damage was done to the lower part of the building. The police are checking it out.”

“This airport is shut down until the FAA gets the tower back in operation,” Charlie informed him.  “Radio our Ops Division and tell them to initiate a NOTAM,” she added, referring to a “Notice to Airmen” issued by the FAA to redirect air traffic.

“Roger.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Bass studied the woman sitting on the floor, who was scribbling notes on the pad propped on the top of one thigh.  In the semi-darkness, her expression was serious, but not fearful.  It reminded him of the calm inner strength that had attracted him to her when they’d first met.

When Connor died, she’d stayed strong. It had been his son’s devastated widow and young daughters who’d needed him most. And because he’d talked Connor into working in his place that fateful night, Bass could do no less than make Heather and the girls his priority.  Now, Heather was married to a man his granddaughters adored. Life had gone on.

“I’ll hold a staff meeting in a couple of hours. By then we should know where we stand on damage.” 

“Roger. I take it the Captain can hear me?” Jeremy asked.  When Charlie confirmed, Jeremy continued, “Might be something going on with the Rangers’ plane that was due to take off around the time the storm hit.”

Charlie handed him the radio as she rose from the floor.  

“What sort of something?”

“Don’t know. The planes sitting on a taxiway with a couple of vans surrounding it. Debris has the plane blocked so it can’t taxi back to the transfer center. Seems to me, since that plane isn’t going anywhere, they’d have started off-loading those prisoners by now.”

After signing off, Bass met Charlie’s gaze. “If something happened on board the Rangers’ aircraft, we may be dealing with more than just tornado damage.”

“That’s all we need,” she said shoving a hand through her hair.

“My thoughts, exactly.”

Easing out a breath, she pursed her lips and studied the notepad.  The gesture reminded Bass of how seductive that mouth could be.

He jammed a hand into his pocket. Seeing her and then touching her, made him think of things he’d forced out of his mind.  Things that now flooded to the surface.  He’d forgotten nothing about her, he realized. 

For months after he let her go, he had lain awake nights, tormenting himself with thoughts of her.  The only thing that had kept him from going after her was the knowledge that he’d made the right choice.  Right for her sake, as well as for the people Connor had left behind.  Over time, he had even managed to nudge Charlie into a place in his mind where he no longer hungered for her. Or so he thought.

The moment he saw her today, touched her, every feeling he’d ever had for her had come rushing back, stronger than ever. Nobody had to tell him that having Charlie Matheson back in Willoughby was going to cost him some sleepless nights.


	2. Chapter 2

Two hours after they dove into the restroom for cover, Charlie and Bass walked out.

“Watch your step,” Jeremy cautioned as glass crunched beneath their shoes.

Charlie’s throat tightened when she saw that the storm had shattered every window in the concourse. Ragged pieces of glass glinted from walls, planters and padded seats lay toppled throughout the passenger boarding gates. Gleaming shards hung from the ceiling.

Outside, rain fell in a torrent. Damp gusts blew through the open planes, chilling the air.  Charlie’s flesh prickled beneath the coat Bass had draped over her shoulders.

“Does the terminal still have its entire roof?” she asked.

“Sure does. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” Jeremy said with a shake of his head. “We found the upper cab of the control tower sitting in the middle of runway three-five-right.”

“Did all the controllers make it out in time?

“Yes, lucky for them.”

Bass glanced sideways. “I take it that’s what had us blocked in?”

“Roger, Chief,” Jeremy said, his gaze following Bass to the chairs, a phone card vending machine and two crumpled newspaper racks piled beside the restroom door.

“Last time I saw that vending machine, it was up by security screening. Good thing you folks took cover. If you hadn’t you’d have been cut to pieces.”

“Good thing,” Charlie echoed. She slid a look toward Bass when he stepped away to respond to his dispatcher’s call on his radio. After their initial contact with the outside, there had been little for them to do while they awaited rescue, so they’d sat in silence a few feet apart on the tiled floor. With each minute that passed, torture.

Reaching up, she fingered the gold loop in her right ear. From the moment her Uncle Miles had introduced her to his newest officer, the chemistry between her and Bass had sizzled.  Even now, that clearly hadn’t changed.  With a scowl shepulled her gaze from Bass, inspecting the destruction around her, thankful for the more immediate problems that faced her.

Turning back to confer with Jeremy, she learned that the injured parking attendant had been transported to the hospital.

“I’ll have Nora check on her condition,” Charlie stated, referring to the secretary she’d inherited from the previous airport director.  “Jeremy, I want to inspect the airfield before I hold a staff briefing. Can you get away to take me?”

“You’re the boss,” Jeremy stated. “You say go, we go.”

Just then, Bass rejoined them, his mouth set in a grim line. “One or more prisoners have taken control of Flight 407.”

Charlie’s mouth went dry. “Is anyone hurt?”

“That’s unknown.  There’s an alarm in the cockpit that sends an emergency signal.  The pilot managed to hit the button and radio to the transfer center that a prisoner had a gun.  After that, all communication from the plane ceased. The Rangers are working with the FBI and they’re sending in a negotiator and hostage rescue team by helicopter. The weather is playing havoc with their ETA though.”  Taking a deep breath, Bass met Charlie’s gaze. “Until they get the hijacking resolved, your airport essentially belongs to the feds.”

Charlie bristled at his choice of words. “We’ll cooperate fully with law enforcement, Chief, but Willoughby International is my airport.”

He flashed a grin. “That’s what I expected you to say.

Bass’ grin had always done devastating things to her. It evidently still did, she discovered. Swallowing hard, she looked at Jeremy. “I need to find some rain gear before we go out in the field.”

“We’ve got some stuff down in the maintenance office. It isn’t fashionable, but it’ll keep you dry.”

Shrugging off Bass’ suit coat, she handed it to him without meeting his gaze.  “Thanks for the loan, Chief.”

“You’re welcome.”  

When he took the coat and she felt the glide of his fingertips across hers, a bolt of heat shot up the back of her neck, jerking her gaze up to meet his eyes.

This was the second day of her new job and she had just survived a tornado that had devastated her airport. She had a hijacked plane filled with prisoners parked on one of her taxiways.  Those were the reasons the air around her was so thick she couldn’t seem to drag enough oxygen into her lungs. Bass’ presence had nothing to do with it.  

He had loved her, then walked away.

She had put him behind her and gotten on with her life. 

* * *

 Her staff meeting ended; Charlie gathered her pad and pen off the conference table. After answering a few last questions from the airport’s public information officer, then the fire chief, Charlie entered the hall that connected the conference room with her office. Thick carpet muffled her steps as she passed the small sink, counter and refrigerator nestled near the closet, where her hopelessly wrinkled red suit now hung. After inspecting the airfield, she’d taken a quick shower in the private restroom that adjoined her office, then pulled on her extra shirt, jeans and tennis shoes.

Turning a corner, she entered her office. Stacks of reports, files and printouts awaiting her review sat on top of the big desk positioned in front of a wide window.

After dropping her pad and pen in the center of the desk, Charlie checked her watch. She had maybe 10 minutes until Bass arrived with the FBI agent in charge of the hijacking operation and the Ranger whose men were now held hostage on Flight 407.

Not for the first time, Charlie wondered what their lives would be like now if that one night, long ago had never happened. Would they still be together if she hadn’t cajoled Bass into accompanying her to a benefit when he’d been scheduled to work an off duty security job?  If he had asked any cop other than his own son to work in his place? If, while she and Bass sipped cocktails, a drug crazed robber hadn’t shot Connor point blank in the chest?

So many ifs, and never any answers. After Connor died, the grief and guilt had been overwhelming. She’d suffered with the knowledge that she was responsible for his working in Bass’ place. Battled even more guilt by giving thanks that it hadn’t been the man she loved that had died. Even as she stood at Connor's grave beside Bass, she’d sensed his own guilt distancing him from her. Guilt that he should have been the one working the job that night. Guilt that Connor's wife was now a widow, his two young daughters forever fatherless. There had been so much guilt and pain.

Charlie closed her eyes against the memories that sliced at her heart, She had ached for comfort, had been desperate to give Bass the comfort she knew he needed. Yet, whenever she reached for him, she met the wall he’d erected around his emotions. The last time she’d tried to step into his arms, he’d turned away, telling her he had nothing left to offer her, that he needed to give everything he had to Heather and the girls. The torment in his eyes had told her the wall he’d put up around himself had become impenetrable. There was nothing she could do but watch him walk away.

“Charlie?”

With her mind filled with thoughts of Bass, the sound of his voice coming from the doorway was like a bullet to the heart. She gripped the back of her leather desk chair and turned.

With the rawness of her memories still churning around inside her, Charlie pulled in a deep breath.  Somehow, someway, she had to get a grip on her emotions. Had to separate the man who was once her lover from the cop who now headed security at her airport. The flood of longing that had swept through her when he’d held her as the tornado raged was something to be suppressed and ignored. Forgotten.

Watching her, Bass narrowed his eyes. “Nora’s not at her desk, or I’d have asked her to call to let you know we were here.”

“It’s all right.” Avoiding his gaze, Charlie moved toward the front of her desk. “Come in.”

Bass angled his head in the direction of the older man. “Charlie Matheson, this is FBI Special Agent Frank Blanchard.” Bass gestured towards the second man. “Ranger John Fry.”

Charlie shook hands with both men, indicating they take a seat in the twin leather chairs in front of her desk, she noted Bass had ignored the other chairs dotting the office and opted to rest one shoulder against the wall that displayed a large aerial photo of the airport.

“I can have someone bring in coffee, if you’d like?” she offered.

While Bass and John Fry shook their heads, Blanchardopened a rumpled paper bag he’d been carrying. “I’ll pass. My wife has made me give up caffeine and nicotine. Now, my one vice is macadamia nuts.” Leaning forward, he offered the open bag to Charlie while studying her with an intensity that left no room for doubt he was sizing her up. “Join me, Ms. Matheson?”

“No, thank you, Agent Blanchard. I want to assure you that the FBI has this airport’s full support and cooperation.”

He dipped his head. “Nice to get something handed to you instead of having to pry it loose.”

“Because lives are at stake,” she continued, “Flight 407 has priority.”

Blanchard's brows slid together. “From what I saw when we helicoptered in, you’re dealing with some major damage that’s going to keep your airfield closed for at least a few days.”

“Correct. I’ve already had the local airline managers and their corporate offices wanting to know when the airfield will again be operational. The FAA is arranging to bring in a temporary control tower. They need a timetable as to when I foresee the airfield will be ready to handle commercial and general aviation traffic.”

Blanchard’sgaze leveled on hers. “That, along with a hijacking, is a lot to have on your plate, this being your second day on the job.” The edge that had settled in his voice was in direct contrast to the man’s laid-back manner.

“Whether I’ve occupied this office two days or two thousand is not the point,” Charlie countered, unsurprised that the FBI agent had checked out who he’d be dealing with during the crisis. “The point is how I deal with what’s on my plate.”

“True,” Blanchard agreed, popping a nut into his mouth. “What’s your plan on getting back in operation?”

“I’ll clear the debris from the east runway.” As she spoke, Charlie rose and moved to the aerial photo. There, she tapped a fingernail on the runway that lay on the opposite side of the airfield from where the Rangers’ hijacked plane sat.  “The airlines will have to juggle schedules, but we can get them back in operation using only this one runway.”  She shifted her finger on the map; much too aware that Bass’ gaze never left her face. “The other half of the airfield can remain closed for as long as it takes you to resolve the hijacking.”

Blanchard’s eye’s narrowed. “Do you have the manpower and heavy equipment on hand to clear the airfield?”

“No, but a local construction company does. They began working on a pavement project here last week so they’re on site. I’ve already contracted with them to bring in more crews and the equipment to remove the storm debris. I wanted to coordinate with you before I told them to proceed with the job.”

“Good.” Shoving his bag of nuts into his pocket, Blanchard leaned forward in his chair. “I need you to have that construction company add even more crews and equipment to the job.”

Charlie tilted her head. “Why?”

Blanchard exchanged a look with Fry. “I’ve got a hijacker by the name of Will Strausser demanding I remove debris on the taxiway around ‘his’ plane. He also wants the runway nearest the plane cleared.”

Charlie blinked. If that happened, there would be little to stop Flight 407 from taking off.  “You’re sure you want that side of the airfield open, too?”

“No ma’am, I don’t, but Mr. Strausser does,” Blanchard replied. “I need time to figure out what he’s up to, so I’ll buy that time by trading him concrete for hostages.”  The agent inclined his head toward the aerial map. “Start the crews working at the end of the runway farthest from where Flight 407 sits. That way, Mr. Strausser will see I’m making a good faith effort to meet his demands.”

“I understand.”

Blanchard met Bass’ gaze. “Chief, I trust I can count on you to make sure every man on that crew knows the taxiway where Flight 407’s parked is off-limits. Those three snipers watching the plane won’t take kindly to anyone drifting too close.”

Bass nodded. “My troops will take care of perimeter security for as long as you need them.”

“How many people are on board the plane?” Charlie asked.

“Forty-eight, counting Strausser,” John Fry responded. “Forty prisoners. The rest are Rangers, a few staff members, one pilot and a copilot.”

Charlie nodded. “Do you know how Strausser gained control of the aircraft?”

“Not yet,” Fry answered. “We operate our planes like flying prisons. All inmates wear shackles and leg irons. Before boarding, everybody gets frisked for weapons. None of the cabin crew or marshals on board the flights carry firearms because of the risk that they could be overpowered and those weapons taken away.” Fry’s mouth tightened.  “We think Strausser has an accomplice at this airport who smuggled a weapon on board the plane.”

Charlie went rigid. “One of my operations people?”

“It’s possible,” Bass stated. “More likely, it’s one of the private ground crews that service the plane. A fueler. Maybe a mechanic. Could be someone who works for one of the airlines.”

“Even so, I intended to review the files of all my personnel.”

“So do I,” Bass replied, “My people are rerunning background checks on everyone who’s been issued an ID card to access the airfield over the past year. That includes everyone on your staff.”

Charlie met Blanchard’s gaze. “Has Strausser made other demands?”

“Yes. He wants his ex-wife brought here.”

“Why?”

“Not sure,” the agent responded. “Strausser’s doing time for kidnapping her, so it sounds like he has some sort of agenda involving the woman. She now goes by the name of Foster, Margaret Foster. Lives two hours from here in Ryan, Texas. Since Ranger Fry has had dealings with her in the past, he’s heading for Ryan in a few minutes.”

Charlie almost missed the flicker of emotion in the marshal’s eyes. Curious. She wondered what past dealings Ranger Fry had had with the hijacker’s ex-wife.

Blanchard rose. “Call me before you put those crews to work on the runway, Ms. Matheson.”

“Count on it, Agent Blanchard.”

* * *

 

“You did good,” Bass said after Blanchard and Fry left her office.

Charlie turned. Bass still stood where he’d been throughout the meeting, one shoulder propped against the paneled wall near the aerial map of the airport. “I simply presented a plan that works for both of us.”

“And proved to Blanchard you can handle this job.”

“I didn’t know I had to prove myself.”

“Not to me, you don’t,” Bass said, giving her a long, steady look.  “I found out a long time ago you can do anything you set out to do. This job isn’t any different.”

When he shifted away from the wall and moved toward her, she took a step back. Business. She intended to maintain a strictly professional relationship between them.

“Before you go, I’d like your opinion on the best site for the FAA to locate its portable control tower.”

He arched a brow. “Sure.”

Seated back at her desk, Charlie sorted through stacks of file folders until she found the one she’d had Nora bring earlier.

“Here’s an exhibit of the five-story parking garage,” Charlie said, pulling the legal-size paper out of the folder. “I think the top deck of the garage is the best place for the tower.”

As he studied the exhibit, Bass placed a palm on her desk and leaned in. “It’ll take months to repair the actual tower, so the portable one will have to handle traffic on both runways,” he commented.

“That’s right.” She tapped a finger in a spot on the exhibit. “This location should give the air traffic controllers as clear a view as possible of both.” As she spoke, Charlie’s gaze slid to Bass’ hand splayed against her desk’s dark wood, a hand that had once danced against her skin. The spicy scent of his cologne that she would forever associate with hot, intimate sex slid into her senses, making her throat go dry. Her heart gave one thump before she squashed the flicker of desire.

“I agree.” Bass slid a fingertip across the exhibit. “We’ll set up a perimeter of cement barricades along here to keep security tight.”

Charlie opened her mouth to reply, but no words got past the knot in her throat. She needed space. Lots of space. She rose so suddenly that her shoulder caught Bass’. The impact knocked her off balance.

“Easy,” he stated, gripping her forearms to steady her. His eyes seemed to intensify in color as he stared down at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”  He was so close she could see the dark flecks in those stunning blue eyes. “I just remembered something I need to take care of.”

“You have a million things to take care of.” As he spoke, his hands slid slowly down her arms to circle her wrists. “What specific one are you talking about?”

His face was only inches from hers, his mouth close. So close. For one moment, one very dangerous moment, her brain simply clicked off. All she knew was that she was suddenly desperate to find out if he tasted the same after so long, if his mouth still fit so perfectly, against hers.

She felt the pulse hammering at the base of her throat; saw that Bass’ gaze had lowered, settled there.

“Bass, let go.”

“No.” his fingers tightened on her wrists. “Not just yet.” His eyes rose, dark and intense, to lock with hers.

“Bass.”

“We need to talk.”

“No.” Panic overwhelmed desire. What was she going to do? How could she want this man, this man, after he’d turned his back on her? How could she feel desire while warnings flashed like neon in her brain? Be careful. Don’t touch. Don’t let him close. Not again. Never again.

If she could put some distance between them, she was sure she could come up with some viable reasons to heed those warnings.

Self-preservation had her pulling free of his hold, had her backing away, gaining distance.

“Charlie.”

“Don’t.” She held up her palms to ward him off. She had to breathe. Dammit, she couldn’t breathe. “We have jobs to do, a million details to see to. We don’t have time to deal with anything else.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not all that’s going on here. Up until a few minutes ago, I thought it was just me, but I was wrong. We’ve both got things to deal with that have nothing to do with our jobs.”

She dropped her hands, curled them against her thighs. “Other than the running of this airport, you and I have nothing to talk about.” Her voice was steady despite the old cravings his presence had forced through a door she’d slammed shut years ago. Those cravings were dangerous. Painful.

“I had my hands circling your wrists, Charlie,” he said, his voice as soft as a caress. “Your pulse was off the chart. Do business matters often have that effect on you?”

She raised her chin. “I have work to do.”

As she dropped back into her chair, Bass’ pager beeped. With hands that weren’t quite steady, Charlie pushed papers into whatever file folder was closest.

Shoving back one flap of his suit coat, he unclipped the pager from his belt and checked the display. “I’m needed downstairs.”

“I’ll let you know what the FAA says about that location for its tower.” She stated as he turned.

“Fine.” From the corner of her eye she saw him hesitate, then he turned back to the desk. Reaching down, he put one finger beneath her chin, prodded it up until her gaze met his.

“We’re going to have that talk, Charlie. I promise you that. Someday soon, we’re going to talk.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Give me your best estimate, Jeremy,” Charlie said several hours later while she and the maintenance manager stood on the grassy area at the edge of runway one-seven-left. The swirling dark clouds and torrential rain of that morning had been replaced by hazy evening sunlight that peeked through thick clouds. “How many lights did we lose in the tornado?”

The maintenance manager swept his gaze down the length of the runway. “Best guess is about two hundred edge lights. That’s the total for both runways. Twice that number of taxiway lights.”

Charlie nudged back the hair that a gust of wind dashed into her eyes as she watched a bulldozer shove rubble off the runway’s surface.

The owner of the construction company she had contracted with earlier in the day had been as good as his word. One hour after she’d phoned and given him the okay to proceed with the job of clearing the rubble-strewn airfield, a fleet of dump trucks, front-end loaders, cranes and flatbed trucks with bulldozers piggybacked onto them arrived at Willoughby International. Per Agent Blanchard’s request, she had called the command post to let them know the equipment was on-site. Blanchard advised her to have the dozers driven to where they could be seen from the hijacked plane, but to hold off all work until she heard back from him.

A half hour later, the self-contained steps built into the hijacked plane’s aft lowered. Per the deal Blanchard had struck with Will Strausser to trade human lives for cleared runway, five of the prisoners taken hostage that morning shuffled down the steps. Marshals, clad in bulletproof vests, riot helmets and armed with twelve gauge pump shotguns, waited behind prison vans parked on the taxiway. After herding the inmates into the vans, the marshals transported them to the nearby transfer center. Blanchard then called and gave Charlie the go-ahead to start clearing the runway nearest the hijacked plane.

Now, she and Jeremy stood near the runway’s end farthest from Flight 407. Sitting nearly two miles away, the plane looked like a toy. In the distance, she could see the FBI’s portable command post on the outskirts of the security perimeter that law enforcement had established around the 727.

The plane’s stark-white body reflected the last rays of sun that slowly slipped towards the horizon. Charlie bit her bottom lip, feeling a rush of anxiety for the hostages still aboard the plane. No one knew for sure what Will Strausser had planned for the plane and those he held captive. Since one of his first demands was that the taxiway and nearest runway be cleared, it was obvious he intended to force the pilot to put the plane into the air. Whether Agent Blanchard would allow that, Charlie couldn’t guess. All she knew was the lives aboard Flight 407 might depend on how fast she cleared the runway where she and Jeremy now stood.

“We also lost airfield guidance signs,” Jeremy added. “Replacing those’ll take another hefty chunk out of the budget.”

“I’ve already got this airport approved to receive federal disaster funds.” Out of the corner of her eye, Charlie noted that a red maintenance van displaying the logo of one of the airport’s fixed base operators had parked several yards from where she and Jeremy stood. The driver, a tall thin man wearing jeans, a dark work shirt and a ball cap with the FBO’s logo, was now conversing with several shovel bearing crewmen.

“I’ll worry about the budget,” Charlie continued, picking up the thread of conversation as she looked back at Jeremy. “You concentrate on getting this airfield back in service.”

“You got it Boss,” Jeremy said, his gaze following hers to the hijacked plane. “Speaking of that, before I drove out here to meet you, I got a call from the FAA.” He inclined his head toward a cement block structure that sat in the distance. The antenna toppled against its roof bent like a crooked finger. “They’ll have a crew here first thing in the morning to start repairs.”

“Good.” Charlie glanced at her watch and realized that it was nearly seven o'clock. “I need to touch base with the supervisor on the construction crew.” Her gaze sought, then settled on a man wearing a white hard hat with curly gray hair. He was currently overseeing the positioning of several portable trailers that held large generator powered spotlights. “I want to make sure he understands they’re to leave the taxiway untouched until he hears different from me. After that, I’m going to drive home and get a couple of changes of clothes and grab some dinner. I’ll sleep on the couch in my office until this airport is back in operation.”

“If you need me to take care of something during the night, I’ll be bedded down at the field maintenance compound.”

Charlie touched a hand to his forearm. “Thanks, Jeremy. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He dipped his head. “You’ll manage just fine, boss.”

The low rumble of thunder that sounded from somewhere over the horizon had Jeremy scowling. “Dammit to hell, more rain’s the last thing we need. These crews can’t work through the night if we get deluged.”

Please don’t let there be more rain, she thought, glancing up at the clouds dancing across the sky that was edging closer to twilight with each passing minute. She wanted the crews working throughout the night, wanted the hijacking crisis resolved, wanted her airport in operation, wanted everything back to normal. Her emotions, included.

 

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Jeremy. “Instead of hoping we don’t get rain, maybe we should hope there’s not another tornado mixed with that rain.”

“You have a point, Boss.”

Keeping one eye on the darkening sky, She headed across the runway toward the crew chief.

With police traffic quietly crackling on the radio, Bass parked his unmarked cruiser on a grassy patch beside Charlie’s Bronco. As he watched her walk away from Jeremy, Bass’s throat tightened, admiring the snug denim that encased her long legs and curvy bottom..

Sensing he wasn’t the only male admiring the view, Bass slid his gaze sideways. Two men holding shovels had their gazes glued to Charlie’s butt. A third guy, wearing a ball cap with an FBO logo, stood with his head cocked and mouth pursed, apparently appreciating the entire nifty package.

“Damn,” Bass muttered, as a muscle in his jaw began to work. He’d been so sure he’d finally gotten over her. During the past year, there had been entire days when he didn’t think about her. Nights when memories of her no longer drifted in to haunt his dreams. Weeks when he gave no thought to the engagement ring he’d bought the day before Connor died or the proposal he never made.

When he’d first laid eyes on Charlie this morning, it was as if he’d suddenly been jolted out of some sort of limbo. A limbo, he now realized, he’d been caught in for the past three years. He had gotten an even bigger jolt a few hours ago in her office when he’d felt the pulse in her wrists hammering like mad beneath his palms. Hammering for him. The mix of wariness and confusion and desire swimming in her eyes had knotted his gut. Until that instant, he hadn’t known he was ready to resurrect the part of himself he’d buried with Connor.

Hadn’t known he was still in love with Charlie Matheson. Had never stopped loving her. Now he knew. “Holy Hell.”

When she left Texas three years ago, she’d taken a job at LAX and started a new life fifteen hundred miles away. He would bet that somewhere in those unopened boxes stacked in her office was a frame that held a photo of the current man in her life.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Bass shifted his gaze back to Charlie. She stood talking to the construction foreman, all business as she pointed toward the hijacked plane. Watching her, he acknowledge how comfortably she carried authority on her shoulders. It would be a hell of a lot better for his blood pressure and easier to think, if he didn’t know just how soft those particular shoulders tasted and felt against his lips.

Bass knew the knots in his gut were the least of his problems. Somehow, someway, he had to convince Charlie to let him back into her life. 

“Might as well start now,” he muttered. Grabbing the small blanket and brown paper bag off the seat beside him, he shouldered open the cruiser’s door.

Charlie’s steps slowed when she spotted Bass sitting on a blanket spread across the hood of an unmarked police car. Since she’d last seen him, he had stripped off his navy suit coat and tie; his white dress shirt was open at the neck, it’s sleeves rolled up to expose tanned forearms. A holstered weapon was clipped onto his waistband beside his gold badge. A brown paper bag that sported the name of the hotel on the airport premises sat beside him on the blanket.

“I remember how you get so focused on a job that you forget certain things,” he said, his gaze following hers to the brown bag. “Like eating.”

Charlie ran her hands down her jeaned thighs. “I haven’t had time to think about food.”

She wanted their relationship to be strictly professional, but how could it when their pasts were so intertwined? She checked her watch, and then inclined her head toward her Bronco. “I’m going to drive home and get some clothes. I’ll get a bite to eat there.”

Bass gave her an easy smile. “Why take the extra time when your dinner’s already here?” As he spoke, he pulled two thick, plastic-wrapped sandwiches out of the bag, followed by lidded foam cups.

The rumble of thunder had her glancing up at the gray, swirling clouds. “It could start raining any minute.”

“Then we’d better eat fast.” He dipped his head toward the spot beside him. “Take a load off, Charlie. It’s been one hell of a long day.”

“True,” she agreed, silently acknowledging the dragging fatigue that had settled in her legs and back. Bass couldn’t possible know that her long day had started nearly twenty-four hours ago when anticipation over seeing him had kept her tossing and turning all night.

She also hadn’t eaten a thing since lunch yesterday. Which, no doubt, was the reason that the sight of the sandwiches had her empty stomach growling. “I never was one to turn down food.”

“That’s another thing I remember about you,” he said quietly.

Hating the fact that his reference to the past made her pulse jump, she slid onto the cruisers hood. “You’ve got a lot of unimportant facts cluttering your brain, Monroe.”

Locking his gaze with hers, he handed her a napkin and one of the sandwiches. Reaching behind him, he snagged one of the foam cups. “Unsweetened iced tea with two lemon wedges.”

“Thanks.” She lowered her gaze, concentrating on unwrapping the sandwich.

“You’re welcome.”

She took a bite of her sandwich, her brows sliding together while she chewed. “You’re supposed to be tracking down Will Strausser’s accomplice. Shouldn’t you be running background checks on everyone with airfield access?”

“I am running background checks,” Bass answered before taking the first bite of his sandwich. “Which by the way, also includes you and all your department’s employees,” he added after a moment. “The National Crime Information Center’s computer went down about an hour ago. My dispatcher has instructions to let me know when it comes back online.” He shrugged. “I hadn’t eaten, so I figured this was as good a time as any.”

After the first two bites of her sandwich, Charlie discovered she was ravenous. While she ate, her gaze drifted to the hijacked plane. “Do they have food on board?”

“Box lunches,” Bass said, his gaze following hers. “The prison kitchen loads one for each person listed on the itinerary onto the plane before each flight. According to the men he released, Strausser passed the food out to the other prisoners around lunchtime.” Bass’s eyes narrowed. “He also fed the pilot and copilot, but not the marshals or other staff members.”

“If this situation lasts much longer, Strausser’s going to want more food.”

“He made that demand about three hours ago.”

Charlie looked at Bass. “Will Blanchard give him more?”

“Like everything else, he’ll use food as a negotiating tool. If Strausser gives up more hostages, he’ll get food. Each time Strausser demands something, Blanchard will insist he release a few hostages. Doing that won’t get everyone on board freed, but some are better than none.”

Charlie chewed in thoughtful silence. “What about the plane?” She asked finally.

“What about it?”

“Strausser wants this runway and the taxiway around the plane cleared, so it’s obvious he intends for it to take off after he talks to his ex-wife. What will Blanchard do about that?”

“Hard to say. Right now, he’s made it clear to Strausser that if the plane moves, the hostage rescue team will stop it. Blanchard’s got three of his men armed with shotguns positioned about fifty yards away from the plane. It starts rolling, the snipers shoot the tires out. If the plane’s got four or six flat tires, it can’t roll and can’t take off. Strausser would only have made more problems for himself.”

“If the plane’s fired on, Strausser might start killing hostages.”

“Yeah.” Bass wadded his napkin and the plastic wrap off his sandwich into ball, and then dropped them into the paper bag. “There’s no way to predict what Strausser might do."

Sandwich finished, Charlie dropped her trash in the bag then swept her gaze across the debris-littered airfield. While they’d eaten, the sun had lowered. The spotlights on the portable trailers were now on, illuminating the runway where the bulldozer continued its slow grinding progress.

“I’ve got serious problems to deal with, but I’ll take being airport director any day to heading a hostage rescue team.”

“I know what you mean,” Bass said, wadding up the bag in his hands. He remained silent for a moment, then said, “Tell me about the last three years, Charlie.”

When she turned her head to meet his gaze, the wind dashed her hair against her cheek. “What about them?” she asked, hooking the loose strands behind her ear.

“I’d just like to know what you’ve been up to.”

“Work,” she answered. She’d been thankful the position at LAX had opened when it did, grateful she’d had somewhere to run after Bass ended their relationship. “I’ve concentrated on my career.”

“You’ve got your own airport now so it looks like all that work paid off.” His hand flexed against the wadded bag. “What about the other parts of your life?”

“What about them?”

“Is there a man in the mix somewhere?”

Charlie shifted her gaze back to the airfield. “There was for a while. Things didn’t work out.” Jason had been gentle and caring and had wanted to marry her. Although she had tried to love him, in the end, her heart hadn’t cooperated.

“Too bad,” Bass murmured.

Because she couldn’t help but wonder, she met his gaze. “What about you? What have you been doing the past three years?”

“Working. Spending time with the girls.”

His reference to Connor's daughters tightened Charlie’s throat. On the night their father died, the two little girls had sat on Heather’s lap, clinging to her, doing their best to comfort a grief they could only dimly understand.

Charlie pulled in an unsteady breath. “How are they?”

“Great. Amy’s into ballet. Tabby’s on a swim team.” Bass’s mouth curved. “Both are growing like weeds,” he paused, “Heather remarried nearly a year ago.”

“I hadn’t heard.” Charlie swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I hope she’s happy. She deserves to be happy.”

“She is. Greg’s a great guy. The girls are crazy about him, and he feels the same about them.” Bass raised a shoulder. “It feels right that he and Heather are together.”

Charlie fought the urge to reach out and touch Bass’s hand. “What happened to Connor wasn’t your fault.” She wasn’t aware she’d put her thoughts into words until a shadow of old hurt flickered in Bass’s eyes.

“It took me a couple of years, and a few sessions with the department shrink, but I finally figured that out.” He lifted a hand, shoved it through his hair. “After Connor died, there were a lot of things I should have said to you, but didn’t. I never meant to hurt you, I hope you know that.”

The ache in her heart was burning. Closing her eyes, Charlie fought off a wave of emotion. She could not, would not, allow Bass to sneak past her defenses. She had to remember how badly she had hurt when he walked away. Had to remember the long days and even longer nights she’d spent agonizing over him, wanting him. She’d put her heart back together and there was no longer any room in it for him.

“I don’t…” Her voice hitched and she took a deep breath. If the air had been heavy before, now it was unbreathable. “It would be best if we left the past where it belongs.”

He stared back at her, his eyes unwavering. “I’m not so sure about that.”

A crash of thunder splintered the air, lightning breaking open the sky. Rain fell in sheets.

Yelping, Charlie jumped off the hood, dashed around the cruiser, jerked open the back door and dove in. She didn’t know Bass had followed her in until she twisted around, intending to pull the door shut and met a wall of muscle.

“Shit.” Inching back, she shoved her sodden hair off her face, then glanced down. Her blouse was plastered to her flesh, her jeans and tennis shoes soaked. “This is the second time today I’ve gotten drenched.”

Slicking back his wet hair, Bass glanced out the rear window. “If this keeps up, you may make it to three.”

“Not if I can help it.” Using a palm, she squeegeed water down one arm while easing forward to peek into the cruiser’s front seat. “I don’t suppose you have a dry towel handy?”

“Sorry, towels aren’t on the police equipment list.”

She gave him a dark look through wet lashes. “I knew you were going to say that.”

Using a forearm, he wiped water off his brow. “To be honest, I can’t say I’m all that sorry about not having a towel.”

Charlie took in his soaked shirt and slacks. “Why?”

“Because you look real good wet.” His mouth curving, he leaned and nudged an errant strand of hair off her cheek. “Always have.”

Her spine stiffened when his fingertips lingered against her flesh.

“Bass…” Silence hung between them while rain drummed the roof of the car, washing over the windows, turning the evening gloom to a faded gray. Static crackled faintly from the radio in the dash.

When his palm moved to cup the side of her throat, heat shot through her veins.

“Don’t,” she said, even as the desire that had settled in his eyes sent a raw echo of need through her. Raising a hand, she curled her fingers on his wrist, yet she couldn’t bring herself to shove him away.

It took her a moment to realize she was simply clinging to him. She suddenly understood that it wasn’t him she was fighting against, but her own needs.

His palm moved against her throat. “Your pulse is off the chart again.”

Her stomach muscles clenched. “Bass, we can’t…”

“Yes we can.” His hand slid to her nape as he leaned to nip her bottom lip. “I’m going crazy wondering if you taste the same.”

Before she could protest, his mouth was on hers, covering and conquering. 

His familiar taste swamped her with memories of when she’d reveled in his kisses while they lay sprawled together, legs and arms tangled, their flesh slicked with sweat. A bittersweet, undeniable longing had her body straining against his, no longer stiff but eager. His other hand dove into her hair. The upholstery gave a whisper as he nudged her back against the seat.

“Charlie…”

As his mouth continued it’s tormenting, enticing assault of hers, his hand slid from her throat to cup her breast. A soft, yielding murmur escaped her lips when his thumb began circling her already hard nipple.

Had she really forgotten how just the feel of his lips could shoot sensations throughout her entire body? Had she ever really believed any other man could make her melt so slowly, so luxuriously against him?

No, she realized as her fingers curled into his shirt. She had forgotten nothing about Bass Monroe. Not the way he could seduce with just one graze of his mouth against hers. Or the hard feel of his body covering hers on soft, cool sheets.

Nor had she forgotten how much he’d hurt her. 

“Bass, no,” she managed against his mouth.

“Yes,” he corrected. The hand in her hair slid to the back of her neck and held her still with firm, determined fingers. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss.

“Bass.” She pulled back far enough to see his face while she fought to regain both her breath and sanity. “I want you to stop,” she said, her voice shallow and ragged. “We have to stop.”

“All right.” His breathing as unsteady as hers, he loosened his hold minutely. He remained where he was, leaning over her, studying her face with blue eyes that had gone as dark as smoke. “Charlie”

“I can’t,” she blurted. “I can’t, Bass.”

Before she could react, his palm settled against her chest. “Your body’s sending a whole different signal.”

Jerking sideways, she slid across the seat until she reached the door. Her breasts ached from his touch, her thighs trembled. She had to get away from him. Had to have time alone to gather her wits. Turning to the window, she could barely see the outline of the Bronco through the gray sheet of wind. She was about to get drenched for the third time that day.

“I don’t care what signal you think you’re getting.” Looking back at Bass, she curled her fingers around the door handle. “I don’t want a personal relationship with you. We had one. It didn’t work. Period. I make it a point to learn from my mistakes.”

He leaned back against the seat. “So do I,” he said softly.

The glint of determination in his eyes closed her throat. “And not repeat them.”

“I’m with you there, too.”

“Fine. Then we agree this won’t happen again.”

“No,” he said. “My mistake was letting you go, Charlie. I didn’t know how big a mistake that was until I saw you this morning. I know now. That’s a mistake I don’t intend to make again.

“Your thinking’s twisted, Monroe.” She shoved an unsteady hand through her wet hair. “You can’t let go of something you don’t have.”

Emotion flickered in his eyes. “That’s another mistake I’d like to correct,” he said, his voice a soft, intimate glide against her damp flesh. “You could give us another try, Charlie.”

She felt regret for what might have been creeping inside her and forced it back. “I could also try jumping off what’s left of the control tower. Either way, I risk a few breaks.” She shook her head. “Nothing’s going to happen between us, Bass. You need to accept that.”

He dipped his head. “Now that we both know where the other stands, what are we going to do about it?”

“Not a damn thing.” 

Shoving open the door, she dashed through the downpour toward her Bronco.


	4. Chapter 4

Before dawn the following morning, Charlie walked into the one airport restaurant that had remained opened after the tornado hit. The place was already crowded and noisy. Its air thick with conversation and the smoky smell of frying bacon. Though the airport was closed, the crews working to repair the airfield and terminal building needed quick access to food. Yesterday, she had arranged with the concessionaire to keep the restaurant in operation for the duration.

She filled a mug with black coffee, then made her way past the crowded tables. At the rear of restaurant she slid into a booth.

She needed caffeine and solitude.

After spending the night with thoughts of her damaged airport, the hijacking crisis and Bass keeping her tossing and turning, she doubted either caffeine or solitude would do her much good.

Now, sitting alone in the booth, she allowed thoughts of Bass to overshadow all others.

It had been bad enough losing sleep over him after she’d learned they would be working together. At least then she’d been dealing only with memories whose sharp edges had been dulled by time. The moments they’d spent last night in the close, intimate confines of his cruiser had left her with all new memories, ones that had twisted her insides into a knot.

She could no longer deny the chemistry between her and Bass was as strong as before. Even so, it was wrong. All wrong. Despite the fact that she understood the reasons he had walked out of her life, understood intimately the guilt that had motivated his actions, he had walked all the same. Could she ever again completely trust him to be there when she needed him?

She didn’t think so.

Closing her eyes, she sipped the hot, potent coffee while fighting back a wave of emotion. Last night when Bass’s mouth took hers so relentlessly, she had been close, so close, to being swept away. Desire for him had sparked inside her with such staggering speed that she now knew the flame that had once burned between them had never been completely extinguished.

She had never known desire could be so painful. Or make her feel so off balance. So vulnerable.

No, she thought, tightening her fingers on the mug’s handle, she was vulnerable only if she allowed herself to be. Desire, after all, was simply an emotion. As was regret. Where Bass was concerned, she had lived with both for a long time. Just as she had let neither of those emotions control how she’d lived her life for the past three years, she would allow neither to motivate her now. What had been between her and Bass was in the past. That was where she intended it to stay. They would share no more clenching embraces. No more lung searing kisses. From now on, all dealings between them would be strictly business.

Glancing up, she spotted Bass striding through the restaurant’s entrance. Instead of a suit, he wore a black polo shirt open at the neck, well-washed jeans that molded to his long legs and scuffed boots. His gold badge and holstered weapon were clipped to his belt. The instant longing that shot through Charlie weakened all the vows she’d just made.

Her fingers trembled against the mug while her heart pounded. She was realist enough to know that, at this rate, she would find herself involved with him whether she wanted to be or not.

Bass scanned the restaurant's interior, his gaze meeting hers. For a brief instant, his eyes probed her face with such intensity that she felt as if she were not being looked at, but into. Then he glanced across his shoulder and spoke to Agent Blanchard who had ambled in behind him. Blanchard, dressed in the same brown suit he’d worn the day before, inclined his head in her direction.

Charlie dragged in a deep breath while the men went through the service line. Even as she tried to placate herself with the knowledge that she didn’t have to face Bass alone this morning, the tide of uneasiness that had been with her since he’d kissed her breathless rose a little higher inside her.

Carrying a glass of ice and a plastic bottle of orange juice, Blanchard settled on the opposite side of the booth; Bass slide in beside her.

She could smell his soap, his skin, the spicy cologne that made her senses swirl.

“Morning Ms. Matheson,” Blanchard said in his thick Texas drawl.

“Good Morning.” Charlie gave the man a slight smile, then met Bass’s eyes. “Captain Monroe.”

Blue eyes met hers over the rim of his coffee mug. “Morning.”

“The Captain and I thought this would be a good time to update you on a few things,” Blanchard stated as he twisted off the container’s lid and poured orange juice over ice.

“I’d appreciate that,” Charlie said, forcing her thoughts firmly back to business.

“I’ll start with what we know about our hijacker’s background,” Blanchard said. “For years Will Strausser was president of a bank owned by his family in Oklahoma City. Margaret Foster went to work there and caught his eye. Not long after that they married and she quit her job. Apparently, the honeymoon hadn’t been over long when Strausser started abusing her. She finally walked out and moved to Texas, where her mother lived. Strausser hunted Margaret down and dragged her back to Oklahoma. He’d crossed the state line with her; that constituted kidnapping so the feds got involved. Strausser was tried on kidnapping charges and convicted. He was in the County jail in Oklahoma City awaiting sentencing when he managed to escape.”

Charlie shook her head. “Did he go after his ex-wife?”

“He was on his way to Texas when he got picked up,” Blanchard answered. “In the meantime, Ranger Fry headed there to advise Foster of her ex-husband’s escape and offer her protective custody. That offer turned out to be unnecessary since Strausser was captured shortly after Fry arrived.”

Blanchard paused to sip his juice. “That was eighteen months ago,” he continued. “Since then, Strausser’s been in the federal prison in Marion, Illinois. From his first day there, he’s stirred up trouble between himself and members of a prison gang. The trouble escalated, so when the Bureau of Prisons received a recent relocation request from Mr. Strausser’s lawyer, the request got quick approval.” As he spoke, Blanchard pulled out the small rumpled bag he’d carried yesterday out of his suit pocket and offered it across the table. “Macadamia?”

Both Bass and Charlie shook their heads.

“As you both know,” Blanchard continued, “located on this airport is the only Texas prison transfer center in the region.  It’s logical to think that Strausser knew he would return here for a few days, maybe a week, if he got himself reassigned to a different prison.”

Charlie blinked. “You’re saying Strausser purposely caused trouble with the gang in Marion so he would wind up back here at the transfer center?”

“That’s how I see it,” Blanchard answered. “Like I said yesterday, Mr. Strausser’s ex-wife Margaret Foster lives only two hours away. He’s adamant she makes an appearance here.”

“Have you found out why?” Charlie asked

“Not yet.” Blanchard’s eyes narrowed. “I expect we’ll know more when Marshal Fry gets her back here.”

Charlie frowned. Fry had left for the woman’s home in Ryan, Texas, after their previous day’s meeting. “They’re not here?”

Bass shook his head. “When Fry got to Ryan, he found out Margaret had went on vacation. She told her neighbors she was heading wherever the road took her, so they aren’t sure where she went, or when to expect her. They think she’ll get back in the next couple of days. Fry put an APB on her vehicle and he’s keeping tabs on her home.” A line formed between Bass’s brows as he stared into his coffee. “Everything we’ve come up with on Margaret Foster points to her being squeaky clean. Even so, I’ll feel a lot easier after I get my hands on whoever planted the gun on board that plane and know for sure she’s not somehow involved in this hijacking.”

The mix of fatigue and frustration in Bass’s voice pulled at Charlie. “Did the NCIC computer come back with anything last night?”

“No.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “So far, we haven’t found a link between anyone with access to the airfield and Strausser. I had the Police Department’s Special Projects Unit go over the list of personnel with access. They didn’t spot anyone known to do business with local bookies and who might be in the market to make some fast cash to cover gambling debts. A credit bureau check shows a few of the people on the list are overextended, but no one owes enough money to make you think they’d risk sneaking a gun on the plane.” Bass shrugged. “That’s supposing Strausser has money stashed somewhere to pay his accomplice.”

“If he does, we’ll find it Captain,” Blanchard said. Settling back in the booth with his glass, the FBI agent switched his gaze to Charlie. “How much of a delay did last night’s storm cause for the crews clearing the runways?”

“A few hours,” she replied, “I’ll have both runways cleared by nightfall. First thing tomorrow morning my operations people will conduct an inspection. If all debris is gone and there’s no pavement damage, they’ll open each runway.” She glanced at her watch. “The FAA’s portable control tower is due in this morning. Installation and hookup of equipment takes about twelve hours.”

Ice rattled as Blanchard sipped his juice. “This afternoon, I want you to order the construction crew to start moving some debris off the taxiway around the plane,” he said finally. “Tell them to work at a slow pace, and I damn sure don’t want all the debris cleared. Not now, anyway.”

Charlie exchanged a look with Bass. The grimness in his eyes told her Blanchard’s request didn’t come as a surprise. “You really might have to let the plane take off?” she asked carefully.

“Mr. Strausser insists that’s the only way to keep those on board his plane alive. Keeping them alive is, of course, what I want.”

“Of course.” Charlie shook her head. “I wouldn’t want your job, Agent Blanchard.”

“I’ve been in this business a long time, Ms. Matheson. I learned early on to prepare for any eventuality. Mr. Strausser wants that taxiway cleared. I’m willing to accommodate him if he gives me more hostages. So far, he’s given me thirteen. Counting Strausser, that leaves twenty-seven onboard. I intend to get as many released as possible.” Blanchard raised a shoulder. “Meanwhile, I’ve got three sharpshooters who guarantee that plane won’t move one inch unless I let it.”

The now familiar sense of dread for those held aboard the hijacked plane resettled in Charlie’s stomach. “If you do let it take off?”

“We go to plan B,” Blanchard replied. “The minute this hijacking went down, I put the Bureau’s Gulfstream six passenger jet on alert status. It’ll set down here as soon as your east runway opens. If circumstances require that I let Flight 407 get airborne, myself and a few others will be shadowing the 727 in the gulfstream.” Blanchard’s hand clenched in the brown bag. “I guarantee you Ms. Matheson, whether it happens here in Willoughby or somewhere outside this country, Mr. Strausser will eventually be mine.”

At that instant, a soft beep sounded. Bass and Blanchard reached for their pagers the same instant Charlie pulled hers off the waistband of her slacks.

“Mine,” Blanchard said, regarding his pager’s display. “The FBI director wants an update on our status.” Nodding to Charlie and Bass, Blanchard stuffed the small bag of nuts into his coat pocket and slid out of the booth.

Charlie watched the FBI agent thread his way past the tables and booths that had filled to capacity while they’d talked. Her gaze settled on a man wearing a dark work shirt who sat alone at one table. His hands wrapped around a mug, his gaze tracked Blanchard’s progress toward the restaurant’s door. Furrowing her brow, she tried to remember where she’d seen the man before, but nothing came to mind.

“Is coffee all you’re having for breakfast?”

“Yes,” she said, turning her attention back to Bass.“I notice you’re having the same.”

His mouth curved. “Yeah, but I’ll remember to eat later. I can’t say the same about you.”

Now that Blanchard was gone and she and Bass were alone in the booth, her nerves began to tangle. Was she destined to forever feel as though she’d just run a marathon whenever he got near?

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked.

The sudden softness in his voice put an instant wariness inside her. “About what?”

“Last night. Still think what happened between us was a mistake?”

Lowering her gaze, she stared into her coffee’s murky depths. She jolted when the pager she still held in one hand sounded. Grateful for the interruption, she checked the display.

“I’ve got to go. The FAA’s portable tower just arrived.”

Bass nodded, then slid out of the booth. He waited until she’d risen, then turned to face her, his blue eyes inscrutable. “I’ll be sure to ask you that question some other time.”

* * *

 

Sixteen hours later, Charlie stumbled into her office, swinging the door closed behind her. After leaving the restaurant that morning, she’d met Jeremy and the FAA reps responsible for the placement of the temporary control tower. Then she’d driven downtown and spent hours giving reports on the airport’s status to the city manager, mayor and all three airport trustees. The remainder of the day had involved meetings with airline managers, other onsite businesses and her staff.

Now, the FAA’s control tower was in place and ready to start operation. Both runways were cleared. The taxiway on which Flight 407 sat had, per Agent Blanchard’s instructions only been partially cleared of debris.

Right now, there was nothing more for her to do. No more urgent calls to make or return. No meetings to attend. No more checks of the airfield until morning when the airport resumed operations. The only thing she had to do right now was be available. She could do that while she slept.

She headed for her small office bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth. Snapping off the light, she walked to the couch, toed off her shoes and then dropped like a rock facedown onto the cushions. She was asleep in thirty seconds flat.

So far all the checks Bass had run on individuals with access to the airfield had been a bust. Nothing. He and his troops had checked the welfare of everyone with a current airport ID on the off chance someone had wound up murdered and their ID stolen. Still nothing. He went over the list of people who had signed in to visit prisoners at the transfer center the same time as Strausser. He had no visitors. Nor could Bass find any connection between Strausser and anyone who’d had contact with any other prisoner or guard.

Now, as he walked through the dimly lit reception area that led to the airport’s executive offices, Bass bit back a vicious case of frustration and the beginnings of a headache. Someone on the ground had smuggled a weapon onboard Flight 407. That same someone had to have authorized access to the airfield. It if was the last thing Bass did, he was going to find that someone.

His steps slowed when he neared the closed door to Charlie’s office. He frowned when he saw no light coming from under the door. She had notified his dispatcher nearly two hours ago that she would be working in her office in case she was needed.

With concern spiking through him, he tapped lightly on the door. When he got no response, he turned the knob and swung the door open. The dim light coming from behind him shone into the dark office as he stepped inside.

Crossing silently to the couch, he gazed down at Charlie’s sleeping form. She lay on her stomach, her head turned toward him, one arm and one bare foot dangling off the cushions. Her lips were slightly parted and her blonde hair was spread against a sculpted cheek. Emotion tightened in his chest. Had he ever really believed that his life could be complete without her?

Bass scrubbed a hand across his face. Time had eased the guilt and the grief he’d felt over Connor’s death. Yesterday he discovered what an empty shell of an existence he’d been living. He wanted to be whole again. He would never be though unless he had Charlie Matheson back in his life. The problem was that she had made it clear she didn’t want him back in her life.

Muttering an oath, he walked across the office to the small closet, opened the door and pulled out a blanket. Maybe she had yet to figure it out, but she wasn’t going to slip through his fingers again. He’d be damned if he would let her.

Charlie dreamed she was floating in a pool of warm soothing water. Suddenly Bass was beside her, his hands roaming across her damp flesh while his mouth moved on hers in a moist, deep kiss that went on endlessly, until she was as pliant as melted wax.

“Bass…” His name escaped her lips on a moan of pain mixed with pleasure.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice was so soft, so close, so real. Too real. Her eyelids fluttered open. Disoriented, she rolled onto her back, trapped between the dream and the present. “Bass?”

“I brought you a blanket.”

“A blanket?”

He was crouched beside her, the light from the open door shadowing his face as he leaned in to tuck the blanket around her shoulders.

“Didn’t want you getting cold.” Soft as a whisper, his fingertips nudged her hair off one cheek. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A deep almost desperate longing for what they once shared gripped her. Would it be wrong, so wrong, to experience again all they’d lost? To block out the past hurt and all the regret and share this one moment in time?

When he started to rise, she snagged his hand. “Bass?”

His fingers slid between hers, linking them. “Yeah, Charlie?”

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

His hand went still against hers. “Why?”

“Because.” She cupped her palm against his cheek, felt the stubble that covered his jaw. “Just because,” she whispered, bringing her lips to his.

His mouth was warm and soft and more potent than any dream could ever be. As their lips moved together, her breath shuddered out to merge with his. His taste, his scent filled her senses, swamping her with memories, filling her with an ache only he could ease. Just as her arms rose to slide around his neck, Bass drew back.

“You’re sure this is what you want?”

She let the air slowly out of her lungs. He had walked away from what had been and what might have been between them. Because of that she wasn’t sure she could ever trust him enough again to consider a future together. Didn’t know if she even wanted one. All she knew was that tonight she wanted to push all of that away. Right now the desire she felt was all that mattered.

“I’m sure this is what I want right now.”

“Well, that’s honest.” He stared back at her, mouth set. “I’ll be honest, too, Charlie. I want you, too. Right now. Tomorrow. Forever. For the rest of my life, I want you.”

Without waiting for her reply, he rose and crossed to the door. He swung it closed, blanketing the office in black, velvety shadows. A moment later, she heard the lock engage with a quick, deliberate snick.

Then he was back, crouching beside her, cupping his hand at the back of her neck, his mouth covering hers as he dragged her and the trapped blanket on the floor with him.

The kiss was exactly what she wanted. Needed. Hungry, fierce and mindless. Her back pressed against the soft carpet as his mouth crushed down, hot and hard to devour hers.  Her heart hammered against her ribs as she gave in to the kiss with a mindless frenzy where desire ruled all thought and blood roared over reason.

She tugged his shirt free of his pants, then jerked it over his head. Her exploring fingers grazed over flesh and muscle while she breathed in his scent.  Her nipples burned against the restriction of her clothes, the soft, wet pulse between her legs pounding. He was the only man who had ever made her want so quickly, so completely, so utterly.

Pushing her blouse open, he shoved it off one shoulder and replaced fabric with his teeth. Minutes later, the remainder of their clothes lay heaped around them on the floor.

His mouth traced the contours of her breast, then settled to feast on one nipple using teeth, tongue and lips.  His fingertips took a slow journey down the flat planes of her stomach, then slid lower until his palm settled, cupping her. Her heart bounded into her throat.

As he continued to suckle at her breast, his fingers kneaded the most intimate part of her, sending sensation sliding over sensation, building toward delirium. Clutching at the blanket tangled beneath her, she absorbed the first stunning waves of pleasure.

“I’m not done with you,” he murmured before shifting his mouth to her other breast. His lips fed, and fingers moved, until her nerves snapped like a whip and her entire body pulsed for a second time. His name tore from her lips in a mindless moan of pleasure.

Lifting his head, he dragged his hands through her hair, fisting them there. “I’ll never be done with you, Charlie. Never.”

The greed in his voice broke through her already reeling senses. Wanting to feel that greed, she arched her body up, offering more of herself as her nails dug into his shoulders. She hadn’t known she could want so much, that the need for one man, this man, could be so sharp and potent. So terrifying.

His mouth moved to savage her throat and shoulder. The office was dark, yet lights danced with brilliant color behind her eyes. With each gasping breath, blood pumped harder beneath her sweat-slicked skin, pushing her system closer to that teetering edge of insanity until she was ready to beg for release.

He entered her in one hard, welcoming stroke. She felt his body shudder as hers took him in, tightened around him. Her hands clenched in his hair, his mouth crushed down on hers as they plunged blindly into the kiss while their bodies moved together, fast and hard. Breathing labored, flesh quivering, they tumbled over a jagged brink in unspeakable pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be wrapping this one up in the next day or two. Many thanks to Raynedreamer, SparrowHawke, Taurusgrl06, JaqofSpades, Ladysarah, Loveforthestory, ThreeMagpies, Maria88, and LemonSupreme for the lovely comments.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This received the briefest of look overs. If there's something that just really grates your nerves let me know.

Much later, they found the energy to crawl onto the couch. Sitting between the arm and cushion with Charlie’s bare back snuggled against his chest, Bass knew he could die right there a happy man.

She couldn’t know how enticing she looked, propped against him, her long legs entwined with his, her skin still flushed and warm with the afterglow of their lovemaking. She had her head turned toward the wide window behind the desk where the first light of dawn seeped through.

“Bass, I have a feeling something terrible is going to happen on that plane,” she said quietly.

“Yeah.” The urgency he felt to unearth Strausser’s accomplice churned in his gut like acid.

“What if the request you sent to the Oklahoma City PD comes back with nothing?” Charlie asked as she shifted against him. “What then?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

So far the results of the inquiry he’d sent to the OCPD hadn’t come back. Strausser had lived in Oklahoma City for over twenty years; he and Margaret Foster had lived there during their short marriage.  Before his arrest on kidnap charges, Strausser had been president of a bank. To Bass’ way of thinking, Strausser’s accomplice might have lived in Oklahoma City, or at least paid him a visit there. Bass had faxed OCPD a list of all individuals with airfield access at Willoughby and requested a check of the names against misdemeanor arrests. Speeding tickets. Littering charges. Anything minor that wouldn’t show up on the national computer.

“That plane has been sitting there for two days,” Charlie said, her gaze still on the window. “The runway’s clear of debris now. Most of the rubble on the taxiway is gone. How much longer do you think Strausser will wait until he takes some sort of action?”

“Not long. The reason I came up here last night was to tell you Strausser’s drawn a line in the sand.”

She angled her head to look across her shoulder at him. “What sort of line?”

“He swears he’ll kill a marshal if he doesn’t talk to his ex by noon tomorrow.” Just saying the words had Bass biting back frustration. “I need to get my hands on Strausser’s accomplice. Take him out of the formula before then.”

Charlie nodded. “Everything’s tied to Strausser getting to talk to his ex-wife, isn’t it?

“My gut tells me she’s the spark that’ll set off whatever events that follow.”

“I can’t help but think of the families of the marshals on board that plane,” Charlie said after a moment. “They swore an oath to do their jobs. We both know that oath won’t give their families any comfort if Strausser starts shooting.”

Bass closed his eyes for a brief instant. When Connor died it hadn’t mattered that he’d been a cop. What mattered was that he was dead. “You’re right, we both know that.” He placed a soft kiss against her hair. “We both know.”

“Charlie.” Cupping her shoulders, he shifted her around on his lap until her face was only inches from his. “Talk to me about last night.”

She shoved a hand through her hair. “What do you want me to say, Bass.”

“You could say you enjoyed the past couple of hours.”

Her mouth curved into a tired smile. “You know I did.”

His palm grazed her hip. “And that you’re glad we made love.”

“I wanted it to happen.”

“Not the same, and now I imagine you’re wondering if you want it to happen again.”

Her gaze traveled to the boxes of stacked in one corner of the office and lingered there. “All of this has happened so fast. There’s so much going on right now, with the airport, the hijacking. You.”

He grinned. “You cataloguing me as a disaster?”

She didn’t return his smile. “Where I’m concerned, that may be what you are.” She shook her head. “I need time, Bass. Time to deal with things, think everything through.”

He used his thumbs to stroke the line that had formed between her brows. He still had the taste of her in his mouth. “And decide if we have a future,” he added.

Her gaze rose to meet his. “What we had in the past didn’t exactly work out.”

“My fault.”

“No. It was no one’s fault. What we felt for each other wasn’t strong enough to get us through when Connor died. I was sure nothing could come between us. I was wrong.”

“I did what I thought was best at the time.”

She nodded. “I understand that.”

Bass pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. Then, he had thought by distancing himself he could shield her from some of the pain, yet he had only increased her agony and his own by letting her go.

It was so easy now, he thought. Easy to analyze actions and motives when the passage of three years had smoothed the grief and the agony. “My life took a detour to hell. I figured that was where it would stay. No way was I going to drag you there with me.”

“I loved you, Bass. I would have gladly gone to hell and back with you. Now, here you are, telling me you want me back-“

“I do-“

“How do I know you’ll stay this time? How do I know, if I let myself love you again, that you’ll always be there for me? How do I know this time will be different?”

Considering their past, she had every right to ask those questions. And he knew any assurances he made about how things would be different this time would come off sounding hollow. He eased out a breath. They could rehash their past through eternity and never know if or how their different actions would have altered things. At this point, that paled in importance to what lay in their future.

Considering the uncertainty he saw in her eyes, he was going to have to do some fast-talking to keep her around long enough so he could convince her they had a future.

Settling his hands on her shoulders, he locked his gaze with hers. “Here’s the deal, Charlie. You want to take things slow between us. Fine-you set the pace. You want to keep things uncomplicated, no problem. You decide to see someone else while you’re making up your mind about us. I’ll handle it.” As he spoke, his fingers tightened against her bare flesh. If another man touched her, he would rip his lungs out. “Any limitations you put on us are okay, as long as there is an _us.”_

She blinked. “Are you serious, Monroe?”

“Deadly.” His hands rose to cup her face. “Letting you go was the biggest mistake of my life. I want you back. I _need_ you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

She lifted her hands, curled them around his wrists. “I…can’t make you any promises right now, Bass.”

“Then I’ll make you one. For the rest of my life, I’ll be right there with you. No matter what happens. No matter where you are. I’ll be there.”

Tears glittered in her eyes as he leaned in to place a light kiss on her forehead.

* * *

 

After Bass left her office, Charlie spent the next few hours dealing with paperwork and phone calls. That done, she stopped by her secretary’s desk to tell Nora she would be out on the airfield and in radio contact with the tower. Charlie then headed for the garage where she’d parked her Bronco the previous evening. In ten minutes, her operations division would begin their inspection of the runways and she wanted to observe. Once the inspection was done and the airport back in operation, the FBI’s Gulf Stream would be the first aircraft to set down at Willoughby since the tornado two days ago.

 _Two days_. Charlie’s mind reeled with thoughts of all that happened in so short a time as she dug her car keys out of her leather tote. She didn’t have time right now to analyze all the events. Didn’t want to consider the consequences of the hours she had spent in Bass’ arms.

She hadn’t wanted to put herself in a position to be hurt again, yet she was painfully aware she had done just that. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. How could she want a man so desperately when she wasn’t sure she could trust him to be there for her when she needed him?

She had no answer to that question and right now, she needed to concentrate on what was happening and might happen on her airfield. Will Strausser had made his demands and by noon tomorrow he would either speak to his ex-wife, or he would kill a marshal.

And he would use the gun smuggled onto the plane to do his killing. A gun smuggled by someone working at her airport.

As she walked through the garage, dread settled in her stomach. By now, that someone had probably informed Strausser that the runway and all taxiways on the opposite side of the airfield from the hijacked plane were cleared and would soon reopen. Strausser would know for sure that the rubble still blocking the marshal’s plane had been left there by Blanchard as a stall tactic. The hijacker’s present state of mind was anybody’s guess, as no one knew what spark would motivate him to kill. Will Strausser and his unknown helper had placed so many lives in harm’s way.

Unlocking the Bronco, she climbed behind the wheel. Just as she slid the key into the ignition, the passenger door swung open.

A man bounded into the seat next to her. His muddy brown eyes glinted beneath the bill of a baseball cap as he slammed the door behind him. “Do what I say and maybe I won’t use this.”

Panic curled in Charlie’s belly as she stared into a gun’s dark, lethal barrel.

* * *

 

“I’ve got you, you bastard,” Bass said through his teeth as he steered his cruiser across the tarmac toward a gleaming maintenance hangar leased to one of the airport’s fixed base operators.

Randall Flynn had been arrested in Oklahoma four years ago while Will Strausser lived there. Flynns’s arrest for drunk and disorderly was a misdemeanor, so the charge hadn’t shown up on Flynn’s background check from the National Crime Information Center. After Bass received the information from the OCPD earlier this morning he’d called the Oklahoma City Municipal court and badgered a clerk into digging through the records. Elation had stormed through him when the clerk had called back an hour later to advise him that one Will Strausser had posted bond for Randall Flynn.

Bass now had a positive connection between Strausser and a man with access to the Willoughby airfield. That man worked for the fixed base operator who had the contract to perform maintenance on the planes flown by the Rangers. That contract had given Flynn access to Flight 407, on which he’d planted the gun for his pal, Strausser.

“Got you,” Bass repeated as he pulled up in front of the hangar’s entrance. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the black and white patrol car he’d summoned for backup pull to a halt beside the hanger’s side doors.  Biting back impatience, Bass retrieved the file folder he’d grabbed as he raced out of his office. Flipping the file open, he plucked put the copy of the photo taken of Flynn six months prior when he’d hired on with the FBO.

Bass wanted a picture of his quarry branded into his mind before he walked into that hanger.

The photo taken for Flynn’s security ID was from the shoulders up; the eyes that stared out from the unsmiling face looked as hard as dried mud.

As Bass studied the photo, a sudden realization crept over him. He had seen Flynn. On the airfield, two nights ago. He’d worn a ball cap while he stood with two workers from the construction crew. The three men had watched Charlie walk across the runway to talk to the workers’ foreman. It was Flynn whose gaze had followed her with a particular intensity.

Bass muttered a curse and shouldered open the cruisers door. He was looking forward to meeting Randall Flynn face to face.

* * *

 

“What do you want?” Fear flowed through Charlie, making her voice shake like a leaf in the wind.

Keeping the gun pointed at her chest, the man licked his lips.  “You’re going to make a phone call.”

“Who do you want me to call?”

“Whoever I say.”

Clenching her hands in her lap to stop their trembling, Charlie was conscious of only two sounds; her own terrified heart pounding in her ears and the harsh rasp of the man’s breathing.

Swallowing back her terror, she clamped her teeth over her bottom lip. Don’t feel, she ordered herself. _Think_. Clear your mind and _think_.

Her gaze darted out the windshield. The small garage was dimly lit and nearly deserted of cars. She harbored no hope that anyone would walk by and cause a distraction that would give her a chance to escape.

Stiffening her resolve, she turned her head and made herself look into his face, feeling the gun without seeing it. She’d seen him before. On the runway two nights ago, talking to some of the construction workers. And again sitting alone in the terminal restaurant the previous morning. She remembered how he had watched Blanchard when the FBI agent left the restaurant.

The man jerked a cell phone from his shirt pocket. “Call the dozers.” He said shoving the phone into her hand. “Order them to clear the rest of the taxiway around the plane.”

Well, now she knew the identity of Strausser’s accomplice. She also knew if the bulldozers moved in without Blanchard’s approval, chaos would ensue, at least for a time. Chaos that would not only clear the rest of the debris blocking the hijacked plane, but also provide a distraction for whatever Strausser had planned.

“The FBI won’t-“ Her words died when he crammed the gun against her temple. She winced when he angled the barrel and the sight on its end dug into her flesh.

“This whole deal was only supposed to take a couple of hours.” He said. “That damn tornado hit and I’ve had to hang around here for days while the cops sniffed around. I’ve got this one last thing to do, then I got someplace to go.”  The barrel shoved deeper into her temple, sending pain down her cheek. “You don’t make the call, I’ll put the first bullet in your shoulder. Then we’ll move on to your elbow and then to your knees. None of them will kill you, but the pain will be so bad that you’ll wish they had. You’ll be begging me to let you make the call.”

 _Bass_. She almost moaned his name as everything she thought she knew about herself and her feelings suddenly shattered and crashed. She hadn’t wanted to risk her heart again. The gun jabbing into her temple made her realize she wanted all the chances she could get. And she desperately wanted to stay alive to tell Bass she loved him. Had never stopped loving him.

“I’ll..make..the ..call.” The terror she felt sounded in her voice.

“Big surprise.”

She took a breath. “I don’t..know the number..for the supervisor over the dozers. Don’t ..have it memorized.”  “It’s programmed into my cell phone,” she finally managed to get out.

With a gun lodged against her temple she couldn’t move her head so she shifted her eyes downward toward her tote. “In there. Side pocket.”

He stared at her for a long silent moments sweat ran down his temples. “Don’t even think about trying anything,” he finally hissed. Jamming a hand into her tote, he dug out the phone and tossed it into her lap.  “Make the call.”

* * *

 

Bass stalked out of the hanger angry and frustrated. For the first time since he’d hired on with the FBO six months ago, Randall Flynn hadn’t shown up for work this morning. His supervisor had been genuinely surprised when Bass insisted on checking Flynn’s locker in the break room. Nothing. Flynn had cleared out everything.

Bass had already dispatched a black and white to the address Flynn had listed on his job application, but he knew his troops wouldn’t find the man. Why had Flynn disappeared today? Bass wondered. Strausser’s deadline to begin killing hostages was noon tomorrow. Why hadn’t Flynn stayed on the job one more day so he could continue to feed Strausser information?

Bass muttered a curse as his gaze swept the airfield. Numerous service vehicles sat on the nearby apron. Flynn still had his airport ID, which meant he could move freely around the airfield. He could be in any one of the vehicles.

His cell phone rang; he pulled it from the holder clipped beside his holstered weapon. “Monroe.”

“This is Airport Director Matheson.”

Bass’ eyes narrowed. Despite the bad connection he could hear the trembling in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to send in your bulldozers. Clear the debris still blocking the marshals’ plane.”

Fear for her locked Bass’ jaw. “Where are you?”

“No, I’m in my car, it won’t help to call you back to get a better connection. Just send in the dozers. _Now_ ,” she added before the line went dead.

His breath coming hard, Bass climbed into his cruiser as he punched in the number for Charlie’s office. Her secretary answered on the second ring.

“Nora, this is Deputy Chief Monroe. Where’s your boss?”

“She left here ten minutes ago for her car. Said she wanted to be on the airfield when the Ops Division inspected the runways. She should be in radio contact with the tower by now.”

“Thanks.” Bass ended the call and then reached for the microphone clipped to the dash. “Tower, this is Victor Ten. Has Airport One made radio contact with you in the last ten minutes?”

“Negative, Victor Ten.”

“Ten-four.” Bass replaced the microphone. Charlie hadn’t radioed the tower.  Logic told him whatever it was that prompted her to call him had happened somewhere between her office and her Bronco. She had said she was in her car, so he would check the Bronco first. Shoving the cruiser into gear, Bass took off.

* * *

 

The man ripped the cell phone from Charlie’s hand, lobbed it into the back seat. When the gun withdrew from her temple, she saw it’s black metal, dark against his chalk white knuckles.

He pulled his own cell phone out of his shirt pocket, punched a button and held it up to his ear. “She made the call,” he finally said. “You call me in five minutes and let me know if the dozers moved in.” Keeping his eyes locked on her face, he clicked off the phone and set it on the dash.

Staring at the phone, Charlie reasoned Strausser must have taken a phone off of one of the marshals so he and his accomplice could communicate.

“If those dozers don’t move you’re going to have hell to pay.”

 _Five minutes_ , she thought wildly. Would Bass find her that fast? Would he find her at all?

“What does Strausser have planned?” She asked, fighting to keep her voice even. If she could get the man talking, maybe she could distract him, create a chance to escape. _Do something._

“To get away, what the hell do you think?” He made a small arc with the gun, then snapped it back, aimed at her chest. “My cousin Will’s a smart guy. There isn’t anything that’s going to stop him once he sees Maggie and those dozers move in.”

Charlie watched his gaze dart out the windshield, back to her, then across his shoulder out the passenger side window. The dozers weren’t moving in, at least not within the next five minutes. She didn’t dare lift her arm to check her watch. How much longer until Strausser phoned to tell his cousin that nothing had happened.

She wondered if the man still intended to put the first bullet into her shoulder, or would he just kill her and be done with it?

“Strausser’s your cousin?”

“Distant. We’ve been doing each other favors all our lives. Just like now.”

“Why does he want to see his ex-wife?”

“Will’s got some things to discuss with Maggie. Personal things. Very personal.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlie glimpsed Bass step around the column nearest the Bronco’s passenger side. Her throat closed and her lungs ceased to work. As he crept closer, light glinted dully off the gun he gripped in one hand, its barrel pointed toward the floor.

Her heart drummed impossibly hard, impossibly loud.  

* * *

 

 _She was alive_. The thought echoed through Bass’ brain as he inched forward, his gun clenched in his hand. Locking his jaw, he angled his body so his reflection wouldn’t show in the Broncos side mirror. Everything depended on him taking Randall Flynn by surprise.

His gaze swept the dim area where the Bronco sat, then flicked to the garage’s entrance where dazzling April sunlight shone just outside. He saw no sign of the uniforms he’d radioed to meet him. He was on his own.

He was close enough to touch the handle on the passenger door. Despite the tinted glass, he saw that Charlie’s face was white with fear, her eyes wide and glassy as she kept them on Flynn’s face. Blood was pooled on her right temple.

Bass narrowed his eyes. He was going to rip Flynn apart, limb-by-limb.

He forced back his fury. He would let emotion brim to the surface later. Right now, he had to get Charlie out of the Bronco. Alive.

Edging sideways, he glimpsed the gun gripped in Flynn’s right hand, its barrel aimed at her chest. Bass analyzed his options. After he got the door open, he could screw his Glock into Flynn’s ear, order him to drop his gun. Problem was, if Flynn wasn’t inclined to give up the Beretta, it would still be aimed at Charlie.

Bass’ own life suddenly passed before his eyes at the thought of losing her again.

He had to take Flynn by surprise and at the same time get control of his gun. Bass re-holstered his Glock. He needed both hands free for his plan to work. God, it had to work.

Bass dragged in a steadying breath. Eased forward. Curled his fingers around the passenger door’s handle. Jerked.

Flynn jumped. He whipped around, swinging his gun as he turned. Bass clamped his hand over the Beretta and twisted, aiming the barrel away from Charlie and toward the dash. With his other hand, he gripped the back of Flynn’s neck.

He heard Charlie cry his name as he dragged Flynn sideways toward the door. In the same instant, she shoved Flynn’s shoulder, forcing him even more off balance. Digging his fingers into his neck, Bass pitched the man downward out of the car and onto the cement.

Flynn’s curses echoed in the air. Flailing his free arm, he struggled to gain his feet.

Hand still locked on the Beretta, Bass crammed his knee into Flynn’s spine using all his weight to force him down to the concrete, jerking Flynn’s right arm up high on his back while twisting his gun.

Bass heard the snap of bone as he wrenched the gun from Flynn’ grip. The man screamed with pain.

“Move a muscle and I’ll break the rest of your fingers.”

Out of the corner of his eye Bass saw Charlie scrambling across the Bronco’s console, over the passenger seat and out the door. “Bass!”

“Stay back!”

Keeping his knee ground into Flynn’s spine, Bass stuffed the Beretta into his waistband and grabbed his handcuffs. Metal rang against metal as he cuffed Flynn’s wrists.

Just then, Bass saw movement at the garage entrance. Two uniformed cops swung in, guns drawn.

“I’ve got him.” Bass called out. Footsteps echoing, the uniforms dashed to their boss’s side. “Toss him in a cell,” Bass said as he rose. “Then call Blanchard and tell him we’ve got Randall Flynn, Strausser’s accomplice.”

“Bass!” Swallowing a sob, Charlie launched herself at him, all but burrowing into his arms when he caught her close.

If the uniforms were surprised to see their boss with his arms wrapped around the new airport director, they didn’t show it.

“I’ll meet you at the office in a few minutes.” Bass told them.

“You got it Captain.”

From inside the Bronco, a phone trilled.

“That’s Strausser,” Charlie said, her arms tightening around Bass’ waist. “Calling to tell Flynn the bulldozers haven’t moved in.”

“Let it ring,” Bass said through his teeth. “It’ll do Strausser good to sweat over what’s happened to his pal.”

While the uniforms hoisted Flynn to his feet, Bass took his first full breath since he’d seen Charlie trapped inside the Bronco. “You alright?” he asked, nuzzling his face in her hair.

“I am now.” She lifted her head. “You?”

“I am now.” As he spoke, his eyes narrowed and he angled her head to study her temple. Already a bruise darkened her flesh. “You’re cut and bleeding.”

“Just a scratch from the gun’s sight.”

He bit back the sudden rage that made him want to tell the uniforms to hold off while he made good on his promise to break Flynn’s other fingers. “I want an EMT to look at you.”

“I’m okay.” She let out a long shaky breath. “Really.”

“I want you checked.” He cupped his palm against the uninjured side of her face as he stared into eyes that still held the remnants of terror. He knew how she felt-he was still swallowing back the fear for her that had lodged in his throat. “After that, we both need to go to my office and make reports.”

“I’m not getting checked.” The hand she placed over his was as gentle as her voice. “This is my airport, Chief. That means I run things.”

His mouth quirked. “You trying to pull rank, Director?”

“Whatever it takes for me to get the next ten minutes alone with you.”

“You can have eternity alone with me, if you want it.”

She angled her head. “As a matter of fact, that’s what I have in mind.”

Bass felt everything inside of him go still. “You want eternity with me?”

“Remember, I told you I don’t like to repeat mistakes?”

“I’m not likely to forget that.”

“I understand now that we didn’t stop loving each other,” she said, her voice soft. “We just didn’t know how to hold onto each other tight enough. Fate put us here, Bass. We have another chance. I want to hold on tight and take that chance.”

“Charlie,” He closed his eyes for a brief instant.  “You’ve had a hell of a change of heart from this morning.”

“Not a change of heart. You’ve always been in my heart.” She slicked her tongue across her lips. “Staring into a gun barrel puts things into focus. It made me realize that I want all of those years back that we missed together. Sitting in that Bronco, my biggest regret was that you and I weren’t going to get a second chance to make things right. I love you, Bass.”

He cupped her face in his hands. “You’re sure?”

She arched a brow. “Sure I love you?”

“Sure you won’t spend your life wondering if I’ll be there for you when you need me?”

“You were there for me today.”

He nodded. Before, he had loved her with all his heart. It wasn’t even close to what he felt for her now. “And I’ll be there for you the rest of your life, if you’ll have me.”

Her mouth curved. “Oh, I plan on having you.”

He grazed his mouth against hers, desire curling inside him. The heat that flickered in her eyes told him she was as anxious as he to explore the love they both thought lost. Still, he knew neither of them would breathe easy until the crisis was over.

“We’ve done our jobs, Bass,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “You took down Strausser’s accomplice and I got the runway cleared. It’s the FBI and Rangers’ operation now. So, what do you say we head to your office and get those reports filled out. After that, I don’t think anyone would blame us if got out of here for a few hours. “

  
Bass smiled as he wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her back towards the terminal. “I like the way you think.”

 

~fin~


End file.
